Now They Die
by Nachtwachter
Summary: America in ruins, North Italy broken and betrayed. Families fighting familes. Who will win? And most of all, who is this cloaked killer, picking them off one by one?  WWIII, Return of The Soviets, the FB phenomenon, coming soon...
1. 1 Red, White, and Blood

_"You're nothing America. Nothing. England, he doesn't love you, doesn't want you. None of them want you."_

America let out an enraged yell, swinging his fists at the unseen attacker.

"Fuck you!" he growled, blue eyes rapidly scanning the dark room. There were no visible signs that anyone else was there. Except for the busted up door.

There was a twisted chuckle that seemed to reverberate off the walls.

America howled in pain as something sharp sliced at his back. Twisting around, he saw a flurry of white. And red. Blood, his blood. It was splattered on the floor, on the walls. It stained everything it touched.

_"Play nice America. I don't want to hurt you."_ Another dark chuckle, _"Actually, forget that. I /do/ want to hurt you. In fact, I want to hear you scream. Can you feel the pain America? Your people are suffering, dying. Can you hear them? They're screaming, begging for mercy. Feel their agony Alfred? They hate you. Hate you for their pain. Your arrogance is your downfall."_

There was more pain. America screamed. It fucking hurt.

"Who the hell are you? Show me your face, you sick son of a bitch! Show me!"

His words were replied to with another sharp, stab of pain in his chest. He froze. Not his capital, god no. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, howling in agony.

_"You feel it don't you?"_ The attacker laughed, a sick and demented sound that made Alfred's skin crawl.

"Show me who the fuck you are! Sadistic bastard!"

Another bout of blinding pain caused him to writhe on the floor, clawing at his face, trying to get the pain to stop.

The unseen attacker stepped in front of him, and was finally seen.

America gasped as his mind tried to put a name to the face. He knew who this was, he _knew_.

Raising an axe, the cloaked killer slammed it down, severing the American's head from his shoulders.

England sat in a green cushioned chair, rubbing his tired emerald eyes.

"Bloody hell." He growled. He looked terrible. Dark circles rested beneath his eyes, his face was pale and unshaven. He was drunker than hell too. Of course, he had a reason for all of this.

America, Alfred F. Jones, his best friend and lover, had been killed. Decapitated actually.

The world was in chaos, widespread fear and mass panic was growing rapidly, everyone asking the same damn question.

How the hell does a strong nation become utterly decimated overnight?

Washington D.C. was in shambles. Dead politicians, soldiers, and civilians lay strewn all over the streets. The buildings were still burning.

"Arthur?" Sealand's voice broke through the silence.

England looked up. His younger brother's pale colored eyes were just as sunken as his own, the boy's blonde hair was a mess.

"Peter? What is it?" Arthur winced at the sound of his own voice. It was dry and hoarse, making it opbvious that he had been crying. He didn't want to make his little brother afraid, he had to be strong for him.

"I-I wanted to see if you were alright. I know how much America meant to you and well, I-I want tio help."

The smaller nation's voice craked, and it broke Arthur's heart. He walked up to him, enveloping him in a warm hug.

"Things will be alright Peter. Don't worry about me. It's Canada, he's the one I'm worried about."

Sealand nodded.

"Matt must be devastated. His brother…" He trailed off.

Arthur nodded as well.

"I know. I should go see him. Do you want to come along?"

"No, I was going to Latvia's in a few minutes. He's pretty shaken, we all are. As nations, we're hard to destroy. The fact that someone, or something, was able to find his weakness," He shuddered, "It's a frightening thought."

England had to agree. Not many people knew the nations' secret. They all thought they were human as well. The fact that someone knew, and used it against Alfred, was something Arthur did _not_ want to dwell on.

"West! Wake up, I have wurst!"

Germany groaned and lazily dragged himself out of bed. Prussia was quite annoying at times, but, what German could resist the smell of cooked wurst in the morning?

"Oi, West! West! We-Oh. There you are. Finally decided to get up I see." The red eyed man with the white hair grinned, holding out a plate of wurst, "Here bruder, breakfast time."

Germany took it without hesitation, yawning.

"What time is it Gilbert?"

"Time for you to get dressed, and turn on the news Luddy."

Ludwig shot his older brother a glare. How he hated that nickname.

"The news is depressing."

Gilbert's grin faded, and he took on a somber expression.

"It's even more depressing this moring bruder."

Now Germany was alarmed. Gil? Serious? Something _had_ to be wrong.

"What is it that you know that I don't?"

"Turn on the news. It's all over."

Worried, Ludwig went to the t.v. and switched it on. When he saw the nes report, he fell into a chair.

"America…dead? How?"

Gilbert was suddenly behind him, hand on his shoulder.

"Washington D.C. was decimated. Utterly destroyed in the last twenty-four hours."

"That's impossible. How can any nation, strong or not, be destroyed completely overnight?"

"I don't know West.. What I do know is, that the entire world is in an uproar. Every other nation is pointing fingers in every direction possible. England's government is trying to blame it on either Russia, or the Middle East. They tried to blame us but, Arthur wouldn't have it."

"Russia? How the hell did Ivan get involved in this mess?"

"The Cold War. Rumor has it, Russia has weapons that have the power to destroiy and entire third world country. D.C. is small, easily destroyed. Ivan had nothing to do with this though."

"How do you know?"

"They don't have bombs big enough to do _minimal_ damage, let alone somethin this major."

Germany thought for a long moment.

"So, if it isn't Russia, then who?"

"He was decapitated, so I'd say either Denmark or Spain. They're the only ones I know of who use weapons powerful enough to completely sever a head."

Germany thought for another long moment. This didn't make any sense at all.

"Spain would have no reason to kill America. Neither would Denmark. This isn't adding up."

"Well, with World War Three going on, Daan has a pretty good reason for hating Al. Hell, the entire Axis side has a reason to be pissed at America."

"That is true. With what he did to Lovina, and especially…especially to Italy, I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner." He didn't want to remember the state Feliciano was in when he was brought to his house by Lovina, but it was still crystal clear in his head. He was bandaged from chest to foot, fresh blood soaking through everything. His neck had been broken, his windpipe crushed, and his hair all but shaved off. He was covered in dark, painful bruises that made him wince every time he took a step. That wasn't the worst of it though, no. Not by a long shot. Lilly, Lilly Zwingli, Vash's sweet little sister, had cut him open, and tore out Feliciano's heart. Fresh tears stung his eyes, and a wave of fresh anger swept through him.

Little Feliciano, sweet, innocent, harmless Feliciano, had been tortured beyond belief, and because of that, he was broken. Dark clouds hovered over him constantly. There were times when he'd wake up screaming, thinking he was going to die. Then, were the other times, the ones that downright scared Germany. Feliciano had went into the kitchen, most likely to make pasta, but he was in there too long. Gilbert had went to check on him and then instantly yelled for Germany to get in there as well. He'd never forget what he'd seen. Italy had used a sharp bladed knife to cut open the skin on his arm, his face was cut up and bleeding, and he had been about stab himself. Ludwig had stopped him, and held the crying Italian in his arms for hours before he finally stopped, before he finally put the knife down and gave him a small, and yes, weak, smile.

Gilbert noticed his brother's grim expression, and knew instantly what was going through his head.

"They'll eventually pay for what they did to him bruder, you have to stop thinking about it." He didn't know how many times Ludwig had woken up in the night, crying, whispering Feliciano's name again and again. Gil hated seeing his brother like this.

Ludwig fixed that icy blue glare on his brother.

"You're one of them Gilbert. Need I remind you, that not only did you bomb me, but you _raped_ Feliciano. Don't think I've forgiven you for what you did. The bombing I can deal with, but you emotionaly and mentally scarred Italy. For what purpose bruder? What did he ever do to you?"

"You want the truth? Then fine! I was jealous alright? Jealous of the way you looked at him. You're in love with him Luddy, and I just wish that…I wish that I could give you the look that fucking Ital;ian gives you, and have you melt like you do for him. I love you bruder! No, more than that. I'm _in_ love with you! Are you happy? I told you. The reason, is because I don't want him hanging around you all the time. I want you Luddy, okay? I want you, and I want him to stay out of my way."

Ludwig was taken aback. His brother…was in love with him? He didn't know what to say to that.

"Bruder…" He spoke softly, standing up and walking to him, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"Because, you don't feel anything for me like that, and I never had the chance because your precious Italy was always hanging around you."

Germany stepped closer, taking his brother's face in his hands, making Gilbert look him in the eyes.

"You don't know how I feel Gilbert. Though, I think it's time you did know now." He took a deep breath, "I love you too bruder." Without another word, he placed his lips to Gilbert's.


	2. 2 Let's Play A Game

Romano had just gotten comfortable, snuggled against Spain's chest, when the phone rang. It rang four times before it stopped, and his own, bored voice interrupted the brief silence.

_"You've reached Lovino and Feliciano Vargas. Obviously, we can't talk right now, but if we like you, and you're worth talking to, we'll call back. If not, or if this is that macho potato bastard, we'll ignore you. Leave your message after the fucking beep."_

A second later, a loud, high pitched beep was heard, followed by static. Then the caller hung up.

Romano groaned, sitting up.

Antonio looked up at him, his bright green eyes dancing with obvious amusement.

"What is wrong mi tomate?"

"The fucking phone, that's what's wrong." Not a minute after the words left Romano's mouth, the phone rang again.

"Goddamn!" Romano cursed, getting out of the bed and heading to the phone. He was naked but he didn't care.

"The hell do you want asshole?" He growled into the receiver, "I swear, if this is you potato bastard, I will beat your fucking face in!"

There was a static filled silence, followed by a sick chuckle.

"Hello…Romano."

Romano pulled the phone away for a moment, staring at it. Ever so slowly, he put the receiver back to his ear.

"Who the hell is this?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to not find out." The voice let out a giggle, "Now, to the point of this call. I have something that belongs to you."

"Alright, Feliciano, enough games. Get your wimpy ass back home. Right. Now." He growled in a tone that almost always had his younger twin in tears, apologizing like crazy.

"Ah, but I am not your precious twin, South Italy, and I am most certainly _not_ wimpy. Like I was saying, I have something of yours. It's pathetic, and whiney, and I really want to shut it up. But, the boss won't let me. I'll return it safe and sound, if you play my game." Her voice was chipper, in a dark and sadistic way.

"What the hell are you talking about? It obviously isn't very important if I lost it."

There were a series of childish giggles.

"Silly, silly, Roma. It's very important to you; and I never said you _lost _it. More like I, _borrowed _it with no intention of returning it. It one piece that is." More giggles.

"What the hell do you have?"

"Weell, it's less of a thing, and more of a, um, more of a who."

"There's no one important to me. Are you fucking stupid or what? I don't like people."

"Oh, but like I said, this person, is very important to you. But, if what you're saying is true, and he really is nothing, then," She paused and let out another giggle, "Alright, do it." There was a long pause, and then an earsplitting scream which made Romano cringe, his blood turning to ice. His brother, she had his brother.

"Damnit! Stop it!"

"Ah, so he _is_ important to you. How wonderful!"

"No, he isn't."

"No? Well, I guess I _could_ silence him. He's been very annoying, and it's _my_ turn to be naughty, so…"

Romano heard the sickening sound of something stabbing into flesh. His eyes squeezed shut when he heard Feliciano's gut wrenching wail. He felt it. He felt the pain, but he didn't show it. He _wouldn't _show it.

"Damnit let him go! Please."

"But why? I'm having so much fun, though, if you ask nicely, I _might _not hurt him. Much."

"Don't touch him you bitch!"

"Oh dear. I'm afraid that wasn't nice at all."

More sickening sounds, more crying.

"Lovi! Lovi help me! Make it stop, Dio make it stop!"

Romano's heart squeezed in a sick way. His brother, his little brother, his little, wimpy, whiney brother was hurt. He let him get hurt.

"Hold on Feli! I'll get you out, I promise!" He had to fight the tears threatening to spill, "I swear, I'll do anything, j-just stop hurting him!"

"So you'll play my game? Excellent!"

"On one condition, don't touch my brother."

"Condition accepted, but, first things first." There was a loud bang, then silence. No screaming, no whimpering, and no begging. Nothing.

"You said you wouldn't touch him!"

"And I didn't. I shot from across the room, never laying a finger on him."

"You're sick! You hear me? You're fucking sick!"

"Maybe so, but you said he wasn't important, didn't you?"

"W-well, yeah but…"

"Then it's your fault he's dead."

Romano didn't respond.

"So, you'll get a call at noon. The rules are simple; make sure you don't break them." She giggled once more, and then the line went dead, leaving nothing but the dial tone, laughing at him.

Romano pulled the phone away, staring at it as if it were something evil, before he hurled it at the window. The glass shattered, sending an alarmed Spain running into the room.

"Roma! Wh0-what's wrong?" He eyed the broken glass, green eyes wide with worry, "Roma, who was on the phone."

Romano was shaking, amber eyes full of fear.

Antonio grasped the Italian's shoulders, shaking him.

"Lovi! Lovi, tell me what happened."

The fearful amber gaze met his.

"F-Feliciano, h-he's…" Sobs wracked his body, "H-he's…d-dead."


End file.
